


A Love Like Old Boots

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Break Up, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26128501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Each time Scorpius glanced his way, Albus made sure to smile as though nothing was amiss. As though it wasn’t exceptionally odd to come out of your morning lesson and find your ex-boyfriend of three years standing in the grass with his hands in his pockets, waiting for you.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Albus Severus Potter, Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 34
Kudos: 235
Collections: Scorbus Fest 2020





	1. A Murky Old Pond

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been excited for this. The next/final chapter needs editing still, so I won’t post it until the last day, but I hope you like this first half! There are more characters involved but I didn’t want to fill up the tags unnecessarily. Rest assured, everything important is mentioned! I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus cleared his throat, crouching down until he was sat beside Scorpius, both their thighs pressed together. There were speeches to listen to and cheek-pinching to suffer under, and he was probably going to earn a bollocking from his mum over getting his suit dirty, but Albus couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! let’s go!!

oOo

Castletown was a comic book store wedged deep in the heart of Ottery St Catchpole. Albus didn't discover it until he was twelve and a half, on a bright day like any other. He had ducked into the cobbled side-street in a desperate bid to get away from James, who was being particularly unbearable that day, and when he stumbled upon the faded oak-stained door, he saw no harm in pushing it open.

And indeed, there was no harm in it. The shop smelled a little of dust, but mostly there was a fresh-paint scent in the air. Rows and rows of comic books and graphic novels filled the space, which was far larger than it looked from the outside. It was a pokey sort of place, lit by oily lamplight. A soft hooting from the back drew him further in. 

The man behind the counter watched him creep closer, a bemused smile on his face. There was a brown owl grooming itself on the perch over his shoulder. When Albus reached the counter, hands in his pockets, the man looked him up and down and then twitched his lips. 

“You know, most people bring something up to the till with them when they want to pay.”

Albus turned beet-red and scurried off into the shelves, but not before he threw a curious look at the man and his owl. Most Muggles didn't keep owls as pets. Albus wasn’t nearly as knowledgeable about Muggles as perhaps his Aunt Hermione would have liked, but he knew that much. They kept cats and dogs and fish. There had been fish in the Potter’s house once, but Albus caught his mum flushing one down the loo one morning, and his resulting horror had kept the bowl empty for years. 

The man caught him looking and held up a hand, waving it slightly. Albus averted his eyes and picked up the first comic he found, leafing through it absently. At first he didn't pay much attention to the bubbled speech or the flashy colours. He was simply happy to stay out of his brother’s way. Then he turned the pagers slower and slower, lingering on a scene here and there, before he abruptly went back to the beginning, fascinated. 

James finally found him fourty-five minutes later, and when he dragged Albus from the shop, swearing and muttering under his breath, Albus had a paper bag tucked under his arm, an uncharacteristically bright smile on his face, and a head full of adventures.

oOo

In the seven years that followed, Albus Potter discovered many stories. He read comics in his spare time and subscribed to the Castletown Comic’s delivery service: every week a new volume would arrive from the quiet little store in Ottery St Catchpole, run by Florean Fortescue’s long-lost nephew. Albus didn't share Scorpius’s passion for classic literature or quaint stories, but bright, epic tales of loss and love, tragedy and victory, could sweep him up and steal him away for a few hours.

He began to look for stories everywhere. As he ascended through his years at school and dodged bullies and made surprising friends in strange places, he picked up a knack for digging the truth out of someone, and assigning them a role. A girl in the Great Hall with an armful of books was clearly a spy for an intelligence-gathering cooperation, hidden in the shadows. A couple in Hogsmeade were planning a robbery of the jewels hidden beneath the castle. Scorpius Malfoy was some kind of hero. 

He amused himself with penning short stories, which he buried in his trunk under piles of books and mismatched socks. He found himself sketching more often than not, doodling when he should be researching, borrowing Scorpius’s arm to print sprawling flowers and phoenixes and tinderbox-shaped roofs all over his pale skin. 

Scorpius found them charming.

“The flowers are my favourite,” Scorpius said, one evening in their final year at school. 

It had been a rough year. Exams had made the corridors a messy place to be. He was aware that the school hosted exams every year, and that he must have run across dozens of stressed-out students preparing to take their NEWTS before, but it was different when he was the stressed-out student. 

Albus tipped his head back to look at Scorpius, who was curled up on the other half of the sofa. The cold night had pushed them closer together, and the warm fire didn't do much to ward away the chill of the dungeons. But they both wore thick socks, and Scorpius always ran hot, so Albus didn't mind leaning into him as he sketched something on Scorpius’s left forearm. Scorpius held a book against his lap in a lax grip. 

“Yeah? I kind of like the boats.”

“I like anything you draw on me.”

Albus paused, his quill nib halfway through a delicate cat’s ear, and murmured, “Yeah?”

The warm look in Scorpius’s eye was enough of an answer. 

That was not the scene of their first kiss. That happened a few evenings after their graduation, both having scraped more than enough grades to head off into their respective careers. Albus found Scorpius in the Manor grounds, the sounds of their family celebration nothing more than distant chatter and laughter. 

“I’ve got something for you,” Albus said, ducking under the bent bough of an old, pale wisteria. “Gran made peach cobbler, and I don't know what it is, but she said you’d like it. You’ve got old people's taste, or something.”

Scorpius looked up from his knees, his fancy well-pressed suit smudged with dry earth, and shook his head, laughing quietly. 

“There’s no way she said that! Your Gran’s so nice, she’d never say it even if she was thinking it. Give me that.”

He held out his hands for the plate and fork that Albus had carried all the way across the garden, and Albus handed it to him, pretending not to see the tears glistening on Scorpius’s cheeks. He wasn’t very good at comforting people, not even when it came to the boy he cared for the most. It had taken him long enough to admit that much to himself. 

“My father planted this tree for my mother,” Scorpius said, cutting into a piece of cobbler with the side of his fork. “You know that already, I guess. But I always feel… closer to her, when I’m near it. That’s probably silly, isn’t it?”

Albus cleared his throat, crouching down until he was sat beside Scorpius, both their thighs pressed together. There were speeches to listen to and cheek-pinching to suffer under, and he was probably going to earn a bollocking from his mum over getting his suit dirty, but Albus couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be. 

“Doesn’t sound silly to me,” Albus said. “Neville said he still goes to his Gran’s favourite tearoom when he wants to feel like she’s around, and she’s been gone for a long time now. And Ted carries chocolate around wherever he goes. It’s not silly if it makes you feel better.”

When he looked up, Scorpius was staring at him over the plate, his eyes shining. Albus cleared his throat again, a little gruffer than before, and looked away, but not for long. Not for long because Scorpius put a hand on his chin and tilted his face back towards him, and he felt like one of those flowers turning its face to the sun. 

Their first kiss happened when they were seventeen. It tasted a little like peaches, and a little like salt, and Albus didn't mind at all.

oOo

The story of Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, was so well-told that it picked up a few embellishments here and there. Soon it was less of a linear progression of events and more a flourishing embroidery of tragedy, triumph and woe. Albus picked at his ice cream with a plastic, see-through spoon and listened to two witches add a few flowers to the story in the booth behind him.

“It’s all speculation, of course, but you know, they did spend an awful lot of time together, those two.”

“Spent it hating each other, you mean.”

“Well, it’s a fine line, isn’t it?” The witch huffed, before summoning one of her snotty, sticky children over from the other side of the parlour and cooing over its grisly face. “Anyway, they say Draco Malfoy was a spy, you know, and that the two had a secret love affair.”

Albus slipped another spoonful of mint chocolate chip into his mouth, humming in amusement. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. There were plenty of tales of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, star-crossed lovers on the opposite sides of the war, both of them leaving their love behind to raise families and Do The Right Thing. The taste of icy mint burst over his tongue just as the sceptical witch leaned over the table and lowered her voice. 

“Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy? I just can’t see it, Milly.”

Albus’s grip on the spoon slipped, and he pushed it a little too far back his throat, choking on his ice cream. The violent gagging noise cut off any more conversation from behind him, and he imagined both witches turning round to give him disgusted looks, but he was too busy hacking up a lung to flip them both off. 

“Albus? Are you alright?”

Albus held up both thumbs, his eyes still watering. The spoon was still trapped between his teeth, and he jerked it out as Scorpius plopped down into the seat opposite him. He was windswept and lovely, with his hair all coiffed from his stroll through the streets, and a high flush in his cheeks from the cold. His warm brown eyes did not stray from Albus.

“You sure? You look like you’re about to be sick.”

Albus unstuck the spoon from between his teeth and smiled, though it came out all wrong. He could tell from the way Scorpius’s brow furrowed, and the way he smiled back just as tentatively. 

Lately, something had been strained between them. Every interaction felt as if it was on tenterhooks, and Albus didn't know what had gone wrong, but it was clear that something had. He used to be on edge all day, waiting for the moment when he’d see Scorpius and kiss him and tell him about his day. Now he felt a little bit anxious whenever they got together. He couldn’t put a pin in the _why_ of it, but he reckoned it would go away soon. 

Scorpius looked around the ice cream parlour fondly. “Still looks the same as it did the first time we came here. Do you remember?”

It had been the summer of their third year, back when the ice cream parlour first opened. They had finally gotten permission from their parents to do the yearly trip to Diagon Alley together, both of them eager to pick out their school supplies and maybe sneak off to see what was down Knockturn Alley, if they could get away with it. They had snuck off in the end, but instead of creeping down some dark, dingy alleyway, they both ended up climbing into a booth, ordering a double-scoop of ice cream each. Albus remembered how he’d put the churning feeling in his stomach down to the ice cream, and not the fact that Scorpius had looked very cute. 

“I remember,” Albus said. “I found out that you hate mint chocolate chip ice cream, which is a crime, and you bought me that peacock feather quill. I still have it, actually.”

That kind of sentiment usually made Scorpius light up, but this time all it brought forth was a vaguely wistful smile. Albus’s stomach churned, and he glanced down at the rest of his ice cream, melting slowly in the little cardboard container. 

“Do you ever…” Scorpius cleared his throat, twisting his hands in front of him. “Do you ever feel like you’re not moving forward? Like you’re staying in the exact same position, and everyone else is rushing off ahead of you, doing things and achieving things and getting to where they want to be?”

The ice cream didn't seem very appealing now. Albus set his spoon down slowly, and reached out to grasp one of Scorpius’s hands. His own hand was probably a little cold from where he had gripped the container, but Scorpius didn't pull away. But he didn’t grip back either. 

“Sometimes,” Albus said. “I guess it’s different for me though. You know what you want to do, so it makes it harder when you can’t get there.”

The Malfoy name was a little less muddied these days, but it still closed just as many doors as it opened. 

“I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe the reason I can’t find a job yet is because I’ve not quite finished with my education.”

“You did always say you’d like to go to University. They have Wizarding ones now, or you could try your hand at a Muggle Uni, if you wanted something different.” Albus hesitated, because from Scorpius’s wan smile, it felt a little like they were talking about two separate things. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“I guess I just… it’s been two years since we left school, since we got together. And I’ve loved them both. But nothing’s really moved forward since then.” Scorpius stared at him beseechingly. “And it’s not that I want to give it up, or stop being with you, I wouldn’t ever want that. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Albus said quietly. 

“I just think maybe it’s time for something to change,” Scorpius said, the words bursting forth in a rush.

Albus sat back in his seat slowly. The noise from the ice cream parlour felt dim and distant, as though someone had filtered it through thick cotton first. He eased his hand away and dropped them out of sight beneath the table. He wasn’t really sure where to look. 

“Al?” Scorpius murmured. 

“Come on,” Albus said, still as quiet as before. “Let’s go for a walk.”

oOo

“You broke up?” Lily demanded.

Albus made an evasive noise and shrugged his shoulders, which did nothing but wobble the pillow he had placed over his face. His bedroom at the Potter’s house in Godric’s Hollow was usually a reserved place of solitude and silence, or ear-piercing metal music, depending on his mood. Over the last few days, though, it had become something of a hellish, dank room that smelled like must and hadn’t seen the sun in yonks. 

“I don't understand,” Hugo admitted, from somewhere in the corner of the room, where he was perusing Albus’s extensive collection of comics. “You two took seven years to get together. You told me you’d liked each other from the start, since the very first train ride, and that it took you ages to admit it. Now you’re telling me that you’ve broken up over a few fights?”

The pillow wobbled more determinedly, and Lily’s face loomed into view. Her red hair fell short and choppy around her chin, which only emphasised the severe frown on her face. She prodded him in the forehead until he batted her hand away and sat up reluctantly. 

“It’s not just a few fights,” Albus said. “We’ve been arguing for a while now. I didn't even notice it until he pointed it out to me. And he said he’s been feeling like… like nothing’s changing. He said we were ‘stagnating’ or something, whatever that means.”

“Mmm, water does that,” Hugo said airily. “That’s why ponds turn all murky and green over time. If the water has nowhere to run, and no movement to stir it up, it stagnates. Smells a bit like rotten eggs.”

“Great. My relationship was a great big murky pond that stinks of eggs. Thanks, Hugo. That really made me feel better.”

Lily sat on the bed with a flourish, making it bounce. “He was just telling you what it meant, there’s no need to get all snippy. Anyway, it’s not like this’ll last. You just have to prove to Scorpius that your relationship is going somewhere, and that you’re taking this seriously, and then you’ll be back together in no time.”

Albus hugged the pillow tighter to his chest. He didn't personally think it would be that easy. He wasn’t even sure if that was what he _wanted_ to do. Scorpius had looked so anxious and miserable when they walked to the nearest park, and it was only when they got there that Albus realised exactly what he meant. 

They still ate at the same ice cream parlour. Albus still worked at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes while he figured out what he wanted to do. They still went to the same park to eat lunch and chat together and sometimes feed the ducks. Scorpius was still searching for a job that wouldn’t drop him after a few months for the sheer horror of having his own last name. They lived with their parents, and they hadn’t even had sex in two months, despite ample opportunity. 

“I don't know, Lily.” Albus let the pillow go, watching it flop pathetically in his lap. “He said he wanted some space, and he said maybe once we both knew what we wanted to do, things would be different. He still wants to write. He doesn’t want to stop seeing me, he just… wants to focus on other things. Things that aren’t our relationship. Because we don't have one now.”

“It’s weird,” Hugo admitted, biting his lip apologetically. “You were both this sort of fairy-tale couple. Everyone watched you fall in love over the years, and I kind of forgot that you were two normal people that still had normal problems.” 

Albus smiled, but it was more of a grimace. He had forgotten that too. 

It hit Albus then, as precisely and as painfully as a Bludger to the head. They weren’t together anymore. Things were going to be so different, in ways he couldn’t even picture right now. He didn’t crumple or double over, but he could feel tears welling up in his eyes, and he swiped them away angrily with his sleeve, hunching his shoulders. 

“Albus,” Lily said, but she didn't have anything to add. Her brow furrowed even further, and she put a gentle hand on top of his shoulder, her chipped nails scrunching up the fabric of his stained shirt. He leaned into her touch and kept quiet, but he couldn’t stop himself from crying. 

They got him up and bundled him into the shower, where he washed off the tears with James’s fancy body wash that cost a fortune. He didn't even live there anymore, so Albus was well within his rights to use all of his stuff if he was stupid enough to leave it lying around. When he finally came stumbling out of the bathroom, pink and smelling of pine, his bedroom had been aired out and his sheets had been thrown in a pile by the door, replaced by fresh ones. 

“I’m not doing your washing for you, but this is better than nothing,” Lily said, linking their arms together. “Come on, we’re going to Apparate to the beach and lie about in the sand and eat so many chips that I won’t be able to look at a potato again without being sick. Okay?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Lily tugged him down the stairs to where Hugo was waiting by the front door, carrying a bundle of towels and one of Albus’s comics. It was enough of an answer.

oOo

The fireplace roared to life as Albus came tumbling out of the chute, landing with a soft bump on the Headmistress’s soot-covered rug. He dusted himself off and glanced around, but the chair behind the desk was empty, and McGonagall was nowhere to be seen. He checked his watch, straightened his jumper, and trouped his way down the stairs.

The castle was as quiet as it ever got. Classes were still in session, which meant the sudden jarring of spells and misfired Jinxes filled the third floor, and the rustling of quills and shuffled parchment seemed to slither over each wall, a vibrant cacophony of quiet noise. The place was a hive, even though he met almost nobody in the corridors and only bumped into one teacher in the grounds. 

He was feeling rather quiet himself by the time he reached Greenhouse Five. He peered through the foggy glass, but the class was either in a different Greenhouse, or working in the patches nearer to the Forbidden Forest for the day. Albus let himself in with the key tucked around his neck, weaving through the potted plants and shuddering leaves until he reached Neville Longbottom’s office, tucked far at the back of the room. 

Neville was something of a reprieve for Albus. He was a soothing, sturdy man, rooted like a tree but just as flexible, and he was very good at picking apart the tangled web of Albus’s woes and seeing what needed tending to. Albus had never met anyone so unfailingly kind before. The only time he had ever seen Neville angry was when he was faced with Albus’s bumps and bruises over the years, from the many bullies that roamed Hogwarts halls, and it had always left him with a soaring, validated sort of feeling. 

He never gave Neville any names, of course. But just knowing he was keeping an eye out was enough. 

The soothing nature didn't just stick to Neville, though. It seemed to transfer itself to everything he touched, and so the little office with its wooden walls and set of stools and battered tin of fruity tea-bags felt like a safe haven. He put the kettle on after a few fumbles with his wand and picked a stool, settling in to wait. He was knee-deep in a new journal about the applications of Bogwomp root in Hair-Growing potions when he heard someone stamping the mud off their boots just outside. 

Neville popped into view a moment later, dressed in his dark green teaching robes and carrying a bucket of mulch, his hands dressed up in a thick, dirty pair of gloves. 

“Al,” Neville said, coming to a startled stop in the doorway. “This is a nice surprise. I didn't know you were coming, or I’d have signed you in myself. Must have been a bother.”

Albus didn't have free reign over the Hogwarts Floo Network, of course, but some things could be tilted in his favour if he pleaded hard enough, and surprisingly it had only taken one small question before his dad bent the rules slightly. 

“Dad pulled a few strings to let me visit my favourite Godfather,” Albus said, leaning back on the stool. “You’re not busy?”

“Mmm, I’m always busy. But luckily I have a spare pair of hands now, don't I?”

Albus finished his tea in one quick gulp and accompanied Neville into the Greenhouse proper. It was far from his first time helping out around here, though usually there was the presence of a thin, talkative blond boy flapping away in the background, making notes on every new plant and leaning forward every now and again to praise Albus’s work. It always made him blush and mumble, but his hands never shook. 

“It’s strange to see you without your shadow,” Neville mentioned, when they finished spraying the various sticky Goosump bushes. “Come to think of it, he hasn’t sent me a letter in a while. Everything okay? Is he still planning on taking that Apprenticeship in Archway?”

“He tried it, actually, a while ago, but they dropped him pretty quickly. I think they only took him on so he couldn’t accuse them of discrimination. Not that he ever would.”

“That must be frustrating.”

Albus made an agreeable sound, and bent over the nearest shrub, picking at the dead leaves carefully. He had a small, neat mountain of them by the time Neville shuffled closer and put his hand on Albus’s shoulder, squeezing it urgently. 

“Al,” Neville said. “You’re crying.”

Albus shucked off his gloves clumsily and wiped his eyes, determined not to spend another full afternoon crying. It seemed like that was all he did lately. And he was fed up with it, moping around the house in his pyjamas and writing letters only to screw them up and throw them in the bin. He was fed up with second-guessing whether or not his very best friend in the world would want to hear from him. 

“I’m fine.”

Neville chuckled, a warm little sound. “You know, you’ve always been a lot more like your father than either of you care to admit, but this takes the cake. C’mon. I think we need biscuits for this.”

“Hagrid didn't make them, did he?”

Neville’s answering smile did nothing to soothe him, but the biscuits didn't glue Albus’s mouth together, and he was able to get the whole sorry story out in bits and pieces. 

“So you’ve broken up,” Neville said, at the end, in a much softer voice than usual. “I hate to say it, because I know it isn’t helpful to hear it, but I have to agree with everyone else. I really never expected that from either of you.”

Albus looked at his knees, at the worn, crinkled patches on his jeans. 

“But…” Neville said, with a thoughtful look at his tea. “Well. I don't know, really, but with relationships, sometimes timing is everything. Maybe this is something you can fix now, if you want to, or maybe this is something you can fix later. Do you want to?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? Scorpius wants space, and to move on. I’m not going to force him to—”

“It’s not like that,” Neville said sharply. “It hurts when people pull away. You’re allowed to be hurt over this. You’re allowed to ask for an answer, or to talk to him, or to see if your relationship could still go somewhere.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Albus had been perfectly content with what they had, not realising that something was wrong the whole time. He hadn’t even looked hard enough to see that there was something rotten underneath it all. 

“I can’t help but think that if we were really as close as we thought, if we really had this amazing, epic love story, I should have known, right? I should have known that things were coming to an end. But I was still blindsided. Even though I knew we were having a few problems, it still came out of nowhere for me. Shouldn’t I have known?”

Neville reached out and patted his knee, his callused, careful hands cutting through Albus’s teary vision. 

“Even best friends can’t read each other’s minds. You’re nineteen, Al. You’re both so young, and you’ve both still got a lot to learn about how to talk to each other, how to explain what you feel.” Neville laughed shortly, a sudden, rueful sound. “I’m much older than you, and I still don't know how to communicate with some people. The closer we are, the harder it is sometimes. But you’ll get there. Like I said, a lot of this is timing. That’s why I’m asking what you want to do. Not because there’s a right answer, but because I think this should be about what _you_ want, right now.”

Albus mumbled something, and Neville’s hand retreated after one last pat. It was hard to think about what he wanted to do when he kept thinking about the last few weeks instead. 

“I need something to do,” Albus announced. “Something that isn’t sitting around and wondering whether I should be doing more or less or if I should be trying to get back together with him. Something to keep my mind occupied.”

It was quiet in the Greenhouse. Then Neville put a hand to his chin and smiled, and said, “I might know just the thing.”

oOo

It was deep into the evening by the time Albus finally trudged home. Nobody was in the living room, but there was a light on in the kitchen. Albus put his shoes aside and headed straight for the fridge, digging out a carton of pumpkin juice and pouring himself a glass. A strange hiccuping sound drew his attention to the back door, which was wide open, and he caught his mum’s slightly glazed eyes.

“Al! I was wondering where you went off to. Here, want some wine?”

She was sitting in a pair of sweatpants and an old Gryffindor t-shirt, legs criss-crossed with her painted toenails on show. Little bottles of varnish littered the blanket on the patio, where she and Harry had sprawled in a heap. Harry was snoring deeply, his glasses askew, his head pillowed on an old jacket. His toenails were painted a deep emerald green. 

The scene made Albus grin. He lowered his orange juice and stepped up to the doorway, snagging the wineglass from his mum’s grip and lifting it to his lips. It tasted warm and bitter, but it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had. 

“Not bad. Date night?”

Ginny took her glass back with a fond look at her snoring husband. “I guess you could call it that. He passed out half an hour ago. I’m debating whether to draw something on his face, but he’s got a meeting in the morning.”

“I know where the Sharpies are, if you change your mind.”

Ginny snickered. “How was Neville? Did you give him our love?”

“You see him every other week.” Albus leaned against the door-frame and looked up at the sky, pin pricked with stars. “He’s fine. Gave me some ideas for what to do. Actually, he wants me to fill out an Apprenticeship form, reckons I’ll be good at it.”

“And what do you reckon?”

Albus thought of the forms tucked into his bag, the sheafs of parchment ready to be filled in, and the grey eyes that had stared at him with blank suspicion and curiosity when Neville had Apparated them to one particular doorstep, somewhere in the heart of Wiltshire. He thought of his sky-high Potions grades and the restless, listless feeling inside--that urge to do something that wasn’t sitting around and moping. Maybe he didn't know what he wanted to do forever yet, but maybe it was alright to start with something he could do for now. 

“I think it might be a good idea,” Albus said. 

Ginny smiled at him over her glass. Harry grunted, and rolled over, knocking several varnish bottles flying. There was a squawk and a scuffle, and Albus left them bickering sleepily on the blanket, traipsing back through the kitchen with his pumpkin juice and a bag full of forms. 

Upstairs, there was a parcel on his bed. A familiar parcel wrapped in stark black paper that stood out against his mint-green bedspread. He slit the tape and pulled out the latest volume of _Excelsior!_ eagerly, flipping through the pages. A little card hit the bedspread, a note from Fortesque, thanking him for being such a diligent customer, and asking him to confirm with the checkbox system if he still wanted to keep subscribing. 

And he _was_ a diligent customer. He had never wavered in his subscription, and he even sometimes popped in to buy a few volumes for when he was particularly bored. His collection had grown exponentially over the years. 

Maybe it was another example of something never changing, of a murky pond left to stagnate over time. Perhaps it was proof that he was a creature of habit, someone content to never reach for what he wanted, to stay stuck in the old ways. 

Or maybe it was another example of loving something enough that he didn't want to let go of it. 

Albus brushed off his thoughts and ticked _yes,_ and the card vanished in a puff of violet smoke. Whatever the case may have been, he could figure it all out later. He was young, like Neville had said, and he had time. He put the comic down with a small smile and settled on the bed with his bag. 

Then he flipped over the first page of the Apprenticeship forms, and started to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh thank you for reading!! hope you liked it!!


	2. Ripples In The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus pictured Scorpius like this, bent over his books in some sunlit corner of a library, dust in his hair and glasses slipping down his nose, and it made him breathe as though a sharp weight had lifted from his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! here we go!! never written so much dialogue so quickly in my life ahh!! 
> 
> Warning for many cheesy moments, some angst, mentions of alcohol, some very tiny minor swearing, and mentions of past relationships! Nothing current or present though, just old ones. 
> 
> there are probably a few spelling mistakes but I think we caught most of it! <3

oOo

Draco Malfoy was waiting for him beside a tottering ivory vase. His foot beat an uneven rhythm against the marble floor, and every smile he sent to the passing holidaymakers was tight-lipped and faint. Even from the elevator doors, which slid open so smoothly they might as well have been made of silk, Albus could tell he was tense.

“You’re twitchy,” Albus said. 

“Malfoys do not twitch. What happened to your face?”

Albus frowned, ghosting his fingers along his nose and then tentatively through his hair. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. 

“Ah,” Draco said, and reached forward to prod the crinkle between his brows. “That’s better.”

“Seriously? Because I wasn’t frowning? You’re always telling me to cheer up, and the one time I do, you’ve suddenly—”

Draco’s mouth twitched, which was much better than the rest of him twitching in impatience. He smiled blandly at a passing bellboy and then held his arm out for Albus to take, his expensive watch glinting on his wrist. 

“Come along, we haven’t got all day. You can rant a little more once we arrive.”

They Apparated to Billingswing University from the hotel foyer. The tight squeeze through the vacuum of space left Albus with a churning, roiling stomach, but he clamped his lips shut tightly and counted backwards from to ten. He refused to be sick on a day like today. Draco pulled a small vial from his pocket and uncorked it, proffering the soothing peppermint-scented liquid in his direction. 

“That was intended for me, but your driving has improved since the last time we took a trip. Here, drink up. I won’t have you spewing all over the gates of the most prestigious Wizarding University in the United Kingdom.”

Albus downed it. His tongue tingled as though he had just rubbed anaesthetic on it, but the churning died down within seconds. 

“Thanks,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Wouldn’t want to disgrace you before we’ve even gotten inside.”

“You can thank me properly by listing the ingredients used in the potion. While we walk, please.”

An apprenticeship with Draco Malfoy, Private Potioneer Extraordinaire, was never going to be anything other than hard work, discipline, and the occasional disparaging comment on his hair-care regime. The hard work came in the hours of toiling over steaming hot cauldrons and the nights spend editing and rewriting essays and the day trips he took to various study museums, where his back ached after searching through the vast, endless displays of potions journals, fact-checking and researching everything he possibly could. The discipline came in the form of small quizzes whenever he least expected it, even on his days off. 

Albus loved it. He could have gone without the complimentary bottles of conditioners that Draco left in his bag or on his desk, but he knew those wouldn’t stop until Draco had found a way to tame his curls. Everything else, though, was a dream come true. 

That the dream had eventually led him back to a place he never thought he would set foot in was something he was still coming to terms with, but Albus thought it might be okay. His stomach had settled from the potion, and he reeled off the ingredients as they strolled through the main gate, an intimidating creature wrought from pale stone. The building was further in, a conglomeration of sandy brick, not yet washed with age, and lush green grounds. Statues poked their curious, serene faces out of the neat lines of shrubbery. 

“You missed sesame seed and Luten’s oil, but other than that, quite correct.” Draco patted him on the shoulder and headed towards the small reception building, tucked inside a cool tunnel of stone. “Come along. I’ll get us signed in, and then you can head off and find him.”

The roiling feeling threatened to come back, but Albus pushed it down. Instead he jogged after Draco, his smart shoes echoing off the tunnel walls. 

“Me? Why me? Shouldn’t you go and find him while I wait here?”

Draco shot him a knowing look. “That would be counterproductive.” 

Counterproductive indeed. There was no telling exactly what Draco was trying to accomplish with all this, but Albus felt like it was safer not to ask. That was his go-to strategy when it came to his apprenticeship. He asked questions with regards to recipes and instructions and the volatile nature of whatever potion they were concocting at the time, but he never ever tempted the sharp-tongued, sharp-minded man with questions of a personal nature. 

It was quiet. He left Draco behind at the reception and passed clusters of students studying in the grass, or consulting their friends' textbooks while they walked here and there. Nobody looked more than once at his vintage jacket, borrowed from Teddy, or at the faded trim of his brogues, borrowed from Draco, but he couldn’t help but feel out of place anyway. He placed his hands deep in his pockets to hide their trembling, fiddling with a bit of lint while he walked. 

A distant bell sounded, and minutes later, there was a flurry of sudden activity as students pushed out onto the bright lawn. Albus sucked in a breath, coming to a stop. In the crowd, which evaporated like mist on a hot day, someone else came to an abrupt stop too, halting on the bottom step. 

He looked so different, so untouchable and distant. But the way Scorpius looked at him was like something out of a memory. He wore a pale grey shirt, neatly ironed, and over one shoulder hung a buttery leather satchel, hand-stitched and bulging with papers. He was gripping the strap tightly, his mouth parted in stunned surprise. His warm brown eyes hadn’t changed a bit. 

“Hi,” Albus said, keeping one hand clenched in his pocket and holding out the other. “Your dad’s looking for you. I’m sorry, I’m guessing he didn't tell you he was bringing me along.”

He was surprised when his voice remained steady. He was surprised when the whole world didn't come to a gentle stop when they both moved a little closer. 

Scorpius stuttered on a few syllables before he pulled himself together, taking Albus’s hand like it was part of a dream, like it might melt beneath his grip. The handshake was uncertain and trembling, but they both lingered on the touch for longer than necessary. 

“I didn't even know my dad was here,” Scorpius said. “You said he’s looking for me?”

“Mm. Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

The walk through Billingwing University seemed much quieter on the way back. Scorpius didn't say anything, but Albus caught him glancing his way more than once. Each time, Albus made sure to smile as though nothing was amiss. As though it wasn’t exceptionally odd to come out of your morning lesson and find your ex-boyfriend of three years standing in the grass with his hands in his pockets, waiting for you. 

“We drove up last night,” Albus said, after Scorpius had opened and closed his mouth several times, seemingly lost for words. “Your dad has a meeting with a client this afternoon, but he didn't want to be tired for it, and he said it would be nice to visit you today, if you weren’t busy.”

“You _drove_ up?” Scorpius said, coming to a sudden stop. “My dad willingly got in a car?”

Albus snorted slightly. “Yeah, we did. Well, I did the driving, and your dad sat in the passenger seat and didn't breathe properly until we parked up hours later. But I think he’ll say it was a joint effort.”

Scorpius laughed briefly, but even that short slice of sound was enough to make Albus look at him sharply, keenly. He hadn’t realised how much he missed that sound until he heard it again. It brought back a rush of memories, a haze of mornings spent lolling about in the Manor, or evenings spent curled up by the Common Room fireplace, making terrible jokes and savouring sweets. He wondered if Scorpius had someone else to do all that with now, and concluded that he must. He wondered why it hurt more than he was expecting it to. 

They ducked into one of the corridors, the cool air rifling their hair, and left the grounds behind. Footsteps echoed off the high stone walls, and Albus found himself turning his head to look admiringly at everything in sight. It was nothing like Hogwarts with its warm stone that thrummed with magic, and its grounds that felt alive and tempting in the strangest ways. But it was still a building steeped in youth and a thirst for knowledge, if not the history that would one day belong to it. 

Scorpius Malfoy was part of that history now. The stone would remember him for years to come, and when Billingswing University was as old and well-loved as Hogwarts, students would follow in his footsteps and find his name on glinting plaques. 

“There you are,” Draco Malfoy said, when they both turned the corner near the reception hall. “I was beginning to think I’d lost both of you. Scorpius, you cut your hair.”

Scorpius reached up and touched the sides of his hair, which had been shaved close. It didn't look much different to Albus, which meant that Scorpius had let it grow longer in the time they had been apart. 

“It’s so hard to read with it all in my eyes,” Scorpius said, readjusting his grip on his bag and striding forward, a smile lighting up his features. “You should have told me you were coming!”

Draco enfolded his son in a tight, warm hug, while Albus smiled at the nearest wall. There were some murmurs and a few hissed whispers, and Albus rubbed the back of his neck and pretended that he couldn’t hear the agitation in Scorpius’s voice. But when they drew back, there were smiles on both of their faces, and Scorpius’s exasperation faded in the face of his father’s affection. 

“I have class at four, but we can go for lunch, if you’re not busy,” Scorpius said. 

“Our meeting is not until half past six, so I daresay we have enough time for a bite or two.” Draco leveled a stern look at Albus over Scorpius’s shoulder. “But nobody is driving. We can either walk, or Apparate.”

Albus grinned. “You’re just mad because you can never remember which pedal to press.”

“And you can never remember the speed limit, yet you do not hear me complaining.”

“Oh? So you were, what, just ‘airing your grievances’ on the motorway, were you?”

“The Swallow’s Tail,” Scorpius blurted out, interrupting them. He was holding the strap of his bag quite tightly, twisting it between his fingers. “It’s a pub not far from here, just down the street. We can walk there, if you like.”

Draco moved to rest a hand on Scorpius’s shoulder, but paused. His voice, when he spoke, was far less playful than when he had snapped back and forth with Albus, but the warmth in his tone was unmistakable. 

“That sounds perfect. Lead the way.”

oOo

The door to The Swallow’s Tail shut with a thump behind them. It was beginning to rain lightly as clouds edged in from the North, turning the sky a deep, woolen grey. Draco huffed and conjured an umbrella from the tip of his wand, letting the sheer, glistening membrane glide over him like oil. He turned and kissed Scorpius on the forehead, and then gave Albus a rather meaningful look that made him want to kick him in the shin.

“I’m entrusting you with my son’s safety. Walk him back to the University, and then make sure you’re back to the hotel on time, won’t you? This client of ours is going to be a nightmare, I can just feel it.” Draco sighed deeply. “I shall need all the help I can get.”

“It only takes twenty minutes, I can walk back just fine—”

Draco disappeared with an airy wave of his hand and the sudden crack of magic. 

Scorpius squeezed the handle of his bag and then let out a gusty sigh. “At this point, I shouldn’t be surprised by how my father handles conflict.” 

“You really shouldn’t,” Albus agreed. “Want to head back? You said you have class, so you probably don’t wanna be late.”

Scorpius stared at him for what felt like an abnormally long time, but was probably only seconds. Time stretched around them, and the rain kept on pattering down, dampening Albus’s jacket. 

“No,” Scorpius said. “I have class, but—can we go somewhere else? Just for a bit.” 

“You want to skip?” 

Scorpius huffed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. The rain had stuck it lightly to his temples, and he brushed it aside impatiently. Albus half-expected him to stamp his feet. His heart was doing something funny in his chest, and he waited quietly, unsure where the afternoon was headed. 

“No, not skip. Not unless we get caught up. I just… want to talk. You barely said a word in there and I just rambled about my schoolwork, and Albus, I…” 

“It wasn’t rambling,” Albus interrupted. “It was interesting. Your final project involves a whole flock of Hippogriffs, Scorpius, I don't know how you can think I wouldn’t be interested in that.”

Scorpius’s sharp little inhale didn't go unheard, but Albus at least had the decency to pretend it had. He wondered if it was his interest, or the fact that he had said Scorpius’s name, or if it was just a touch of cold rain running down the back of Scorpius’s neck. There was no way to know for sure. He made a little gesture with his hand before tucking it back in his pocket, and waited while Scorpius conjured an umbrella too, big enough to cover them both. The rain ran off the edges of the glossy, sky-blue membrane, forming a curtain, and they had to draw close as they strolled up the street. 

“You wanted to talk? Anything specific?”

Scorpius let out a little incredulous laugh. “Really, Albus? You’re asking me what I want to talk about?”

The first flicker of irritation ran through him, but Albus rolled his eyes and kept walking, determined not to let it get to him. He knew this was weird and unexpected. It was weird and unexpected for him too, and he had been fully expecting it. Still, he probably owed Scorpius an explanation or two. 

“Alright then. I already told you why we drove here, so what else is on your mind?”

This close, he could smell something sharp, something that smelled a bit like pine. He didn't know if it was hair product or some kind of soap, but it was nice. It made him think of mountains and forests. It suited Scorpius. 

“You’re working with my dad,” Scorpius said, as they turned left down a little side-street. “How did that happen? _When_ did that happen? He never told me about it, so it must be new.”

“Ah,” Albus said, because it wasn’t new, not at all, and he had a feeling Scorpius wasn’t going to like hearing that. “No, not really. I don't know why he didn't tell you, actually, because I never said he couldn’t. I sort of figured you knew. But I went to Neville a couple of years ago, not long after we broke up, and I said I wanted something to do, and he had a few ideas. I think he remembered how much I liked potions, and he’d been in touch with your dad for some project with the Greenhouses, so he put in a good word for me. Didn't make a difference, of course.”

Scorpius’s grip tightened on his wand, sending the umbrella wobbling. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I still had to prove myself. The good word didn't do shit. Ha, I spent a whole month not being allowed near any of his fancy textbooks or papers, but now he makes me add my own notes to them, and if I don't, he accuses me of slacking.” Albus snorted a soft laugh. “Funny how stuff changes, I guess.”

“Mm,” Scorpius murmured. “Funny.”

Albus explained, then, about his work. He talked a little about the potions they had concocted together, about his late-night research, and how he spent most of the week in Draco’s snooty little library, stealing his best biscuits while he paged through work. He didn’t mention their somewhat secret project. He mentioned some of their clients, and Draco’s plans to widen their sales targets. He even mentioned the ointment that had exploded rather than congealing properly last week, and how he went with Draco to buy new curtains after they melded quite spectacularly to the floor. 

“I tried to get him to go to IKEA, but he looked at me like I threatened to make him eat sand, so we ended up in some fancy place that looked too expensive to breathe in.” Albus stopped walking when Scorpius did, glancing around. “Where are we?”

“It’s just a park,” Scorpius said. He sat down quite abruptly on a nearby bench, heedless of the way the wood had turned dark under the rain. “Nowhere special. I can’t believe he didn't tell me.”

The park was almost empty, although there was someone jogging a little further ahead. Faint quacking pierced the air, and Albus squinted across the murky pond to find a few ducks nestled in a clump of bushes. Scorpius hunched over on the bench and started muttering, combing a hand through his hair while the umbrella glistened above him. 

“Okay, you’re going to have to give me something here,” Albus eventually said. “I can’t tell if you want me to bugger off because you’re mad or if there’s some part of you that’s happy to see me.”

Scorpius shot upright, a look of alarm pasted on his face. “No! God, no. Sorry. I didn't mean to… look, this isn’t how I planned on my day going. But I _am_ happy to see you, Albus.”

Warmth filled him from head to toe. Albus slouched a little closer and settled onto the bench, crossing one foot over his knee. It was nice to be back under the cover of the umbrella, but it was even nicer to be close to Scorpius and not have to worry about whether he was itching to leave. 

“I was learning about Bogwomp markings this morning, and now suddenly I’m sitting on a bench with my… with my…”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Albus offered, smiling slightly. “You can say it, you know. It won’t bite.”

“You’re weirdly confident these days, aren’t you?” Scorpius huffed. “Not that it’s a bad thing, of course. It’s just a surprise.” 

Some of the ducks waddled out of their hiding place, inching across the water. Albus supposed they didn't mind the rain; if anything, they probably thought the sky was being unusually accommodating. He leaned forward and balanced his elbows on his knees, watching their studious progression across the pond. It was almost too big to be a pond, really, but too small to be a lake. He wondered how often Scorpius came here. 

“I spend a lot of time here, when I’m not in the library,” Scorpius said. “Honestly, I didn't think I’d like the library at first. It’s a newer one, not as big as Hogwarts, but they’ve got so many interesting scrolls that it’s impossible not to love it. I think it might be my favourite place. This place takes a close second though. It’s usually so quiet.”

It was quiet now too. Just the patter of rain against the surface of the pond and the bench and their shoes, which nudged each other at the toe, now that Albus was looking. Scorpius was wearing smart black shoes with a sheen to the toes, and they looked far newer and more expensive than Albus’s own. 

“Albus,” Scorpius said, almost sounding exasperated. “Please say something so I won’t keep rambling.”

Albus jerked around, startled. “I thought you were the one that wanted to talk?”

“Well you didn't have to agree to come with me if you didn't want to talk too!”

“No!” Albus said, shooting upright in the face of Scorpius’s frustration. “It’s not that, and I wanted to come, idiot. I just don't know what you want me to say. You said I was all confident, but I haven’t been this out of my depth in ages.”

“Could have fooled me,” Scorpius murmured. He cocked his head and studied Albus a little, like he was a particularly interesting scroll beneath the library lamplight. Then he got to his feet and brushed off his trousers, as though the splotches of rain might come away like dust and float off in the air. When he turned and held a hand out, Albus had no choice but to take it, and let himself be pulled up. 

“I’ll walk you back,” Albus said. “I won’t be the reason you skip class for probably the first time in your life.”

“I think a lifetime of never missing class gives me a free pass for one skip, but I do need the extra revision. Come on, then.”

The rain came down a little harder, as though it was chasing them, but they kept their pace steady and almost lingering until they reached the University gates. There was nobody about, no clusters of students in the waterlogged grass, and yet Albus felt oddly seen as he came to a stop. 

“It’s nice,” Scorpius said suddenly. “It’s nice, knowing that this is just as awkward for you, I mean. I didn't expect to see you, but you didn't seem all that bothered about seeing me. You just ate your lunch and came to see the ducks with me, like it was any other day.”

Any other day, even though their only contact over the last three years had been a few sparse letters here and there, with anything important stricken off before it could reach the envelope. It wasn’t just any other day. 

“I almost choked on my sandwich at least six times,” Albus offered. 

Scorpius let out another one of those brief, surprised laughs, brightening up the air all around them. He ducked his face and shook his head, shoulders shaking as he chuckled to himself. 

“Well, that’s good to know. Not the choking, but that it wasn’t just me that felt… like this. Whatever this is. Oh, this is where you’re supposed to stop me from rambling, you know.”

Albus planted one hand on Scorpius’s chest and gave him a light shove backwards, startling more laughter out of him. 

“There. Go to class, already. Don't say I never did anything for you.”

He turned on his heel and started jogging away before Scorpius could say anything else, and when the rain hit him, it did nothing to dampen his smile.

oOo

It was like that first visit had given Scorpius permission to pop up everywhere. He was still in University, and would be for another year or so, but that didn't stop him from turning corners and stumbling into Albus at the most inconvenient times.

Albus spent a lot of time flitting between Neville’s Greenhouse, where he tended to a small part of his private project, and Malfoy Manor, where Draco ran him ragged in the library. Some _kind_ soul had given Scorpius a Floo pass, which meant that Albus’s mornings were often interrupted by a burst of green flames as Scorpius came tumbling out into the study. And Draco, fond as he seemed to be of the whole affair, would never tell him when Scorpius was coming. 

He had exploded three potions in the last week alone, and melted a torrential amount of ladles, and Draco would simply not stop _smirking._

“It’s not funny,” Albus muttered, as Scorpius’s bright smile advanced across the room. He put the ladle aside on a piece of kitchen-towel, and watched as the absorbent material melted into mush. 

“I highly disagree,” Draco said. “Scorpius! You came at just the right time. Help Albus with the bat wings, will you? I need to answer the door.”

The door had not been knocked on, nor had the bell rung, but Albus would bet good money that Draco was going to have a very long conversation with whatever imaginary wizard he found on the other side of it. He wouldn’t meddle in their affairs, as he had explained when Albus cornered him after the first visit, and asked him why he hadn’t told Scorpius who his apprentice was, but he had no problem with giving them plenty of space to be alone together. 

“Classes let out early today, so I thought I’d drop by,” Scorpius said, as they stood over the wax-stained, pock-marked table and began combing through the pile of bat wings. “You’re sure you don't mind?”

“It’s your house,” Albus said. “Be a bit weird if I minded. Besides, you might balance out the crazy in the other Malfoy around here.”

“You could have just said yes.”

The thing was, Albus really didn't mind. He liked having Scorpius around, even if it made his chest feel oddly tight to watch him smile or smirk or say something a little wry and self-conscious. It was nice to have an extra pair of hands to help him put away Draco’s enormous collection of Potion’s journals. The moments they grabbed together while they had some free time, spent standing on the lounge balcony with a pastry of a cup of strong coffee, were some of the best moments in his week. 

But it was also jarring. It was like taking a dozen steps backward. It was painful, in some vague sense, to see how different Scorpius was, and also to see precisely how much he had not changed. 

He had come away from that visit thinking that nothing would change, that maybe they would run into each other at Malfoy parties from now on, and they would be able to have friendly conversations. He had been convinced it would be fine if that was the case. Convinced that he didn't really need Scorpius in his life. 

And maybe he _didn't_ need him, if the last few years were anything to go by, but it sure as hell was nice to have him around anyway.

oOo

It was raining again when Albus finally left the Greenhouse, late one Thursday night. He stamped his boots off on the doorstep to his flat. Raindrops splattered the welcome mat. He slipped the key in the lock and turned it and opened the door and almost _leapt_ out of his fucking _skin_ when brown eyes caught his from the middle of the room.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Albus hissed. 

Scorpius put both hands in the air, palms facing outward. “Sorry! I’m sorry! Dad gave me the access spell to your wards and I popped in because I wasn’t sure how else to reach you. I would have just waited until tomorrow but it’s really kind of urgent.”

Albus blinked at the onslaught of words. The scrape of a key in a lock a few doors down and a burst of distant chatter made him slip inside and shut the door tightly, pressing his back against it. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to his neighbours, who were either perpetually high or drunk off their arses. Always very nice, but painfully hard to get out of conversation with. His heart was still beating up a fierce rhythm when he finally unpeeled himself from the door and fixed Scorpius with a dark look. 

“Next time you should probably give me some warning.”

“Ah, right.” Scorpius bit his lip, twisting his fingers anxiously in front of him. “I suppose that was a bit stupid. But I wouldn’t blame you if you fired off a spell or something!”

“I meant so that my heart doesn’t fall out of my fucking arse, but sure.”

Grumbling, Albus shed his wet jacket and put his bag down on the floor, only to stop and squint up at Scorpius’s nervous figure. Something urgent, he’d said, and it really must have been if Draco gave him the access spell. Panic zipped through him. 

“What’s wrong? What do you need?”

 _What do you need from me?_

Scorpius bit his lip again, and then strolled closer, using his hands as props as he waved them around, gesticulating wildly the way he always used to whenever he had something long or important to say. That was how most people in Hogwarts had refined their dodging skills. 

“You know my final project for this year is to manage and observe a Hippogriff herd? Well I was taking notes in the assigned field, of course, and I was being careful not to get too close, but then I noticed one of them had some kind of discolouration on its wing. Sometimes their feathers change colours in different environments but there hasn’t been any outside influences that I can tell, and the University is fairly new so their funding is a bit limited, and when I asked for a Magizoologist they said that—”

“Scorpius,” Albus interrupted. “What do you need?”

Scorpius paused in the hallway. It was late enough in the day that the flat was a little gloomy without the lamps on, and he was saturated in a dark, dusty sort of light. Albus pictured Scorpius like this, bent over his books in some sunlit corner of a library, dust in his hair and glasses slipping down his nose, and it made him breathe as though a sharp weight had lifted from his chest. He waited, watching, until Scorpius got up the nerve to ask him for the favour he so clearly needed, and was so clearly unsure that he deserved. 

Which was ridiculous, because Albus would give him everything if he could. And wasn’t that a terrifying thing to realise? 

“I need you to help me smuggle a Hippogriff out of Billingswing University, please.”

Albus blinked. He blinked a little more. Then he lifted one shoulder and said, “Alright. Not what I expected, especially from you, but apparently Uni’s turned you a little wild.”

“They want to put it down, Al,” Scorpius snapped. “I asked for a Healer or for someone to come and look at it, but they said they can’t afford that level of ‘frivolity.’ If it’s some kind of contagious animal disease or something, it’s going to infect all of the herds, and even though they won’t spend a single sickle to see if that’s the case, they’re willing to get it put down so they don't have to risk everyone else’s projects!”

“Woah, hey!” Albus held up his own hands, and managed to get a grip on one of Scorpius’s flailing wrists: he went quite still at the touch. “They sound like total bastards. I’m with you, okay? Let me just grab some better shoes, and a couple of things, and then we can go. Got a place in mind for your new pet?”

Something in Scorpius’s anxious demeanour snapped, and then softened. He sagged like a snowman in it’s golden years, and stepped back so that Albus could rummage through his belongings. 

“Actually, I was hoping you might have somewhere in mind? I went to Dad first, see, because I thought he might have a potion or a solution, or something to say about me stealing a Hippogriff, at least. But he flat-out refused to keep it at the Manor, and he pointed me at you instead.”

“Me? Not exactly a lot of room in this flat.”

It was a small studio flat at the very top of a run-down block. Not too shabby, but nothing to boast about. His bed was curtained off and the kitchenette was piled high with dishes that he hadn’t had time to wash. The corners were full of strange little odds and ends that came from Grimmauld Place, things that Harry had given him; they were supposed to make it more homey, but they just ended up spooking Albus when he woke up in the middle of the night for a glass of water. 

“Apparently he seems to think you have a lot of space somewhere.”

Albus paused with his hand buried in a drawer full of thick socks, and groaned. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, not quite seeing it but unable to stop picturing Draco’s smug face. There _was_ somewhere he could go, somewhere big enough to house a Hippogriff, but it wasn’t somewhere that he often let anyone see. It definitely wasn’t somewhere that he had ever intended to let Scorpius see. 

“What? What is it? Do you not have the space?”

Albus didn't have to turn around to know how worried Scorpius was. He could hear it in every smooth, lightly-pitched timbre of his voice. 

“No, I know what he’s talking about, and it’s kind of perfect for a Hippogriff,” Albus said. “I’m just going to have to put caterpillars in his tea, that’s all.”

Albus slammed the drawer shut, grabbed his sturdy gardening boots, and snatched up the bag that every respectable Potioneer carried with them if they wanted to make it in the business. When he was ready, he offered Scorpius a reassuring smile that felt more like a grimace, and gestured for him to lead the way. 

“Come on. Let’s go steal a Hippogriff.”

oOo

Billingswing University was intimidating at night. They crept through the grounds under cover of dark, avoiding the lanterns dotted in the shrubbery, until they reached the paddocks where the Hippogriffs were kept. It was slow-going and almost impossible to see in the dark, but Albus was reluctant to cast any spells.

“What kind of security does this place have? I don't want to get dive-bombed by some kind of evil Peeves wannabee.” 

“I don't know,” Scorpius whispered over his shoulder, lifting the latch on one of the gates. “I’ve never done anything bad enough to find out.”

“But you _have_ done something bad,” Albus pointed out. “You wouldn’t have phrased it like that if you’d been a goody-two shoes the whole time you were here. Care to share?”

Even in the dark, Scorpius’s flat glare was discernible enough to make him chuckle. 

“Alright, alright. But you’re not getting out of it. And I grew up with James, so I expect it to be something good.”

The conversation dropped off as they snuck through the paddock. The question of how to smuggle a Hippogriff out of a school had never come up in History of Magic, or Care of Magical Creatures. Fortunately, the Potter family was a little outrageous at the best of times, and it _had_ come up at several drunken Christmas celebrations, so Albus had some idea of how this evening was going to end. 

It was warm and dry in the paddock. The stables were built from roughly-hewn wood, and the scent of straw threw Albus back to school days, when he would write letters on his propped-up knees in the Owlery, with the sun setting through the narrow window and Scorpius cooing at various owls. 

At the very end of the row of stalls, there was an isolated Hippogriff. It was smaller than the rest, a little thinner too, and when Albus peered over the gate, the Hippogriff simply peered back with lazy yellow eyes. It was curled up on the ground with its wing over half of its head, and the bottom half of the wing was oddly coloured.

“I see it,” Albus said softly. “How much contact do you have with them? Are they gonna spook if you or I go in first?”

“It’s mostly observation,” Scorpius whispered. “We have to feed them and come in to examine them, but they groom themselves, so usually we keep our distance. You should be able to get in there without any trouble. Maybe bow first, though. Just in case.”

“So you’re not coming in with me?”

Scorpius looked affronted. “Of course I am. I wasn’t going to drag you here in the middle of the night, send you in after a sick Hippogriff and then head off to bed while you sort everything out! What kind of person do you think I am?”

Albus lifted the latch, hiding a smile. Scorpius’s indignant protests were familiar in that old, heart-achey way, although there was one key difference. 

“You were always so quick to jump to the defence when it came to other people,” Albus murmured, cutting off the enraged whispers. “I’m really glad you finally started defending yourself too.”

He pushed the stable door open before Scorpius could respond. The smell of hay was stronger in here, though beneath it he could detect the faint, sour scent of sickness. He wasn’t familiar with magical beasts and their ailments. He made potions at Draco’s dictation, for Draco’s customers. But he was well-read and he had a basic knowledge of most anatomical processes, and he knew enough to tell that this Hippogriff was definitely sick with something. 

The Hippogriff gave a soft, warning growl, but subsided as soon as Albus bowed low. Then it closed its eyes and let him come closer, until he was kneeling in the straw with his hand buried deep in his potions bag. 

“Hi, boy,” Albus said, gently stroking a hand down the discoloured wing. “I’m no expert on this stuff, but only one of us is allowed to be nervous at a time, and Scorpius has that covered.”

Scorpius finally unfroze. He tip-toed in and sat beside the Hippogriff’s head with a scoff, reaching up to stroke its beak. There was no angry growl or warning looks. If anything, the beast relaxed further. 

“I think he’s more comfortable with you,” Albus whispered. “Check the wing, see if it’s okay for him to use. I’m going to see if I’ve got anything animal-safe that I can use for now.”

“Why does he need to use his wings?”

“Unless you’ve got a pocket big enough to fit a Hippogriff in, we’re going to have to fly him out of here.”

Scorpius uttered something inaudible before kneeling up, working his hands over the wing in smooth, careful movements. He was precise and careful, almost nervous, but he clearly knew what he was doing. His years at University studying in dusty libraries had not been wasted. 

Albus had always liked watching Scorpius study. In retrospect, it was probably a bit creepy to anyone who came across them in the library, with Scorpius bent over books and making soft exclamations over spells, and Albus with his head resting on his folded arms, watching. But it had filled him with a happy sort of warmth to see him so excited and vibrant and clever. There was something similar in this, now, watching Scorpius show off his expertise, in seeing how far he’d come. 

“Seems fine enough,” Scorpius said, once he’d finished his inspection. “I don't think he’s in pain. But he’s lethargic and slower than usual, so I’m not sure how he’s going to fly us both out of here.”

“That’s where this comes in.” Albus fished a few vials out of the bag and uncorked one of them, wafting it under the Hippogriff’s slitted nostrils. The liquid turned to smoke and drifted, acrid, through the air. “Should work like an animal-friendly version of a Pepper-Up Potion.”

The hippogriff sniffed, jerked, and then launched to its feet. Both of them went scrambling back in the hay, not stopping until their backs were pressed against the stable door, breathing harshly. Scorpius found his hand and clutched it, his chest heaving. The Hippogriffs’ wild eyes fixed on them, and then shot away again. He stamped his hooves a few times, sending up piles of dust, before subsiding into agitated stillness. 

“Probably should have done that after we got him outside,” Albus admitted quietly. 

Scorpius’s breathless laughter made him grin, giddy. He glanced sideways and caught Scorpius’s wide-eyed gaze. It sent a shot of exhilaration through him. Scorpius’s hand was warm beneath his, and he didn’t want to let go. He wanted to hold on tighter. He had never considered himself a touchy-feely person, but as always, even after so much time, Scorpius was the exception to the rule. 

“Christ,” Scorpius said under his breath. Then he shook his head, locks of pale hair falling in his eyes, and climbed hurriedly to his feet. “I don't know how long that lasts, but we should probably go sooner rather than later. I don't want it to wear off mid-air.”

Albus didn't have long to mourn the loss of their joined hands. Soon they got the Hippogriff tacked up and led it out into the field. The other Hippogriffs stirred and snorted, but there was no great fuss. Scorpius threw his leg over the Hippogriff when it bowed low enough to climb on board, and Albus hesitated only briefly before sidling up behind him. 

“It’s about two hours South-West,” Albus said. “You don't mind flying for that long?”

He spoke the words against the back of Scorpius’s neck and felt him shudder. There was nowhere to put his hands: he gripped his bag with one and dug the other into the Hippogriff’s sleek feathers, trusting its docility. 

“Steer me if we go the wrong way,” Scorpius said. “Hang on tight.”

There was a pause, a grunt, and then the Hippogriff bent it’s hind legs and kicked off with a surge of power, rocketing them in the sky. Stars soared towards them. 

Albus lurched forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Scorpius’s waist, not caring if it bothered him: he was a bit preoccupied with not falling to his death. Scorpius shouted something loud and excited as they shot through the air. Each wing-beat was steady and strong, sweeping the air out from under them. He could feel his heart beating fast in his throat, and the way the muscles tensed in Scorpius’s stomach as he used his feet to steer. 

It was quiet in the sky. Everything looked tiny. It took awhile for him to relax, but eventually Albus pressed his chest to Scorpius’s back, seeking warmth. The wind whipped all around them, but his jacket staved off the worst of it. He tucked his chin over Scorpius’s shoulder and muttered directions in his ear, watching the world shrink and shine beneath them.

oOo

“I can’t believe we did that!” Scorpius was yelling as they began their descent. “I can’t believe we stole a Hippogriff!”

Albus spat out a mouthful of rain and shouted his agreement, but the wind whipped the words away. The heavens had opened twenty minutes ago, and he had never been so delighted to see the farm in his _life._ He was soaked to the bone and shivering too; Scorpius was much the same way, but he didn't seem to feel it. 

Giving up on words, Albus threaded a hand through Scorpius’s hair and tugged it sharply, angling his head down at the ground. It was too dark to see much, but the farm was dotted with lanterns, all of them lit up like Will O'The Wisps, leading them home. Scorpius nodded once, a jerky little thing, and then dug his heels into the Hippogriff’s flank. 

The steep descent stole Albus’s breath away. The Hippogriff skidded through the mud in front of a flat house that had once been part of the farm, before Neville had it renovated. There was still the makings of stables behind the building, so they dragged the Hippogriff through the rain and tucked him out of sight in there. Scorpius did a little fancy wandwork to make it warm and dry, and Albus conjured a bed of straw. A quick ward kept the stable encased in a safe bubble. The Hippogriff snorted once, a great huff of air, and then settled on the ground with its wings tucked gently over its head. 

“We should be able to have a better look at him tomorrow,” Albus said, over the roar of the rain and wind. “I’ll call Luna, see if she can come and check his wing, and if there’s anything we can do, we’ll do it. C’mon, let’s get inside.”

But before he could make a dash through the deep puddles to the front door, Scorpius found his hand in the warm, dry dark and held it tightly, briefly, all of his thanks poured into that one touch. 

“Al,” Scorpius said a little breathlessly. “Thank you. For the help. Thank you.” 

Albus swallowed audibly. It felt like there was sand in his throat. He squeezed Scorpius’s hand and gave him a little nod of acknowledgement. 

“No problem,” Albus murmured. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

oOo

The soggy clothes went straight in the dryer. Scorpius vanished, dripping, into the tiny bathroom at the back of the house and came out vigorously towelling his hair, his cheeks still flushed from their flight. Albus scrounged up some spare t-shirts and a few pairs of flannel bottoms, and they sat at the desk where Albus usually worked while the kettle boiled, watching their wands dry out side-by-side on a bit of kitchen paper. The walls were papered with sketches and bits of parchment and watercolour drawings, but the lack of light had not let Scorpius have more than a curious glimpse.

“I don't think I’ve done anything that exciting in years,” Scorpius said, reaching out with eager hands when Albus came back with two steaming mugs of tea. “It’s been all work and research. A few daring trips into the middle of town, I guess, when I was drunk. But nothing like that.”

“You got drunk?” Albus grinned from behind his mug. “I want to hear all about that.”

Scorpius flapped a hand at him. “You’ve seen me drunk before. There was that—oh, what was it, chess or Gobstones? Never mind, it was a tournament, and I won, in our Seventh Year. That’s what matters. And I got drunk, remember?”

“I’m surprised you do. Didn't you almost set the Greenhouse on fire?”

“Ha. It wasn’t that bad! Professor Longbottom would have cried, and I don't think even Drunk Me was that careless. But I did regret the whole thing very much the next day.”

Albus brought his knees up onto the chair and propped his mug on top of them, comfortably hunched. It was nice, sitting and watching as Scorpius described his adventures throughout Billinswing, occasionally dipping into their shared past to add another track to his train of thought. The rain drummed on the windows and the clothes tumbled around in the dryer, and Scorpius talked until all the noise faded into the background and Albus’s chin dipped tellingly. 

“Oh,” Scorpius said, cutting himself off suddenly. “I’m probably boring you. You should have said something if you were tired—here, I’ll take that, come on.”

Bewildered, Albus watched as his mug floated off out of the room and Scorpius climbed to his feet. Their wands were dry at this point. Scorpius swept his off the desk and made a complicated gesture in the air, summoning a thick wad of blankets from the airing cupboard and chivvying him towards the sofa. 

“There’s a futon thing in the other cupboard if you want it. You know I’m not actually that tired, right?”

Scorpius gave him a little push. “Tell me that again when your eyes are open.” 

Albus hit the sofa laughing. He opened his eyes, just like he was told, and caught a certain look in Scorpius’s eyes that sent ripples through him. It was an old look, but it felt new. It was wistful and affectionate and layered like puff pastry. He shrunk down into the embrace of the cushions and almost threw his arms out invitingly, like Scorpius with his tea. 

It was just the evening, and the rain, and the fading thrill. That was what was making his heart beat like this. Albus watched Scorpius bustle around and pick things up and pretend not to peer nosily at things that weren’t any of his business. He wanted to stay up all night talking. He wanted to lie there and listen to Scorpius and the rain. 

He was still a bit damp, he realised, with a sleepy slowness. And might also have been still a bit in love.

oOo

The pouring rain finally stopped the next morning, but there was a faintly damp mist in the air and a cold bite to the wind. Scorpius stepped out and pulled his jacket high up to his chin, waiting at the end of the porch while Albus locked the door. The wards surrounding the house kept everything beyond the dirt track hidden, so it was sort of like looking at the world through a wet window. His eyes shifted back and forth instead of fixing on anything. He could see Scorpius struggling to focus, mouth pulled down as he fought against his blurry view.

Albus pulled on Scorpius’s sleeve, and they headed off down the dirt track. The wards parted when Albus’s magic burst forth in a subtle wave, and everything turned to purple. 

Lilac, lavender, violet. It was an ocean of soft, bruised flowers. Fields stretched as far as the eye could see, interwoven with tall fences and winding paths. Scorpius stopped, inhaling sharply, and simply stared in bemusement at the scenery. 

“Those are magnolias, aren’t they? And sweet peas? Oh! What’s that?”

“Sage,” Albus said, grinning. “Purple sage.”

Scorpius twisted on his heel to look at him, and then marched off through the nearest path, peering over the fences and studying each flower intently. Albus laughed lightly and took off at a jog, keeping pace. 

“It’s the soil,” Albus eventually explained, when they had walked far enough for Scorpius to satisfy his initial curiosity. “Neville developed a certain soil that alters the colour of almost any plant, magical or otherwise. He sells a lot of his home-grown stock to Draco, and when he used the purple plants in a potion, he found that they were stronger. Only the purple plants, and especially in Healing Potions. They decided to look into it a little more, and that was about the time when I went to Neville for advice about… about jobs and stuff. So they roped me in and we set up this place.”

Scorpius sped up a little out of excitement, making tight whirling motions in the air with his hands as he spoke. “That’s fascinating. So the soil produces certain colours on demand? No, I imagine not, or there wouldn’t have been much need for all this, would there? Not on this scale.”

“Yeah. These fields were like a rainbow when we first started. Took a few years to get to this level, and some of them still come up blue and yellow sometimes. I’m pretty sure we’re on the right track though.”

Scorpius looked at him again, with that same old-new look from the night before. “Fascinating. And you did all this?”

“That’s the deal,” Albus said. “It’s their project, but it’s my responsibility. I run the experiments, I test the soil, I observe whatever comes out of it. We grow whatever ingredients Draco needs for his potions, and Neville helps me out and comes to stay at the weekends. In exchange, I get to stay here whenever I want, free of charge. I keep my flat because it’s closer to home and because I want somewhere to have people over. The last thing I want is my family getting wind of this place.”

Scorpius made a small noise, then fell silent. He looked out over the fields, head tipped back slightly like he wanted to feel more rain on his face. Albus didn't want to disturb him, and he often came out here to take in the peace and quiet himself, but he was insatiably curious about the growing sadness on Scorpius’s face. 

“What is it?” he murmured. 

“Nothing, it’s just… I never expected this. It’s nice and quiet out here, but I always pictured you as a city person. Somewhere you could complain about taxis and the price of beer, you know?”

Albus had come to the damning realisation last night that he might still love Scorpius in a way that he shouldn’t, not after three years of space and silence. He didn't really know what to do with that knowledge. His love had lived in his skin: deeper than that, surely, for him to only now notice its presence. But now that it had come to the surface, now that it had broken through the waves, Albus was at a loss for how to act. 

His first thought was to act normal. Casual and friendly, with that same undertone of awkwardness to their interactions that had been there since their first meeting at Billingswing. Maybe they could grow a little closer that way, without pressure or expectation, though the idea made strange anxiety bloom in his stomach. 

But casual and friendly seemed impossible when all he really wanted to do was get closer. 

“We should check on the Hippogriff,” Albus said quietly. 

Scorpius looked at him for a long moment, as though he had more he wanted to say. Then he sighed, and followed Albus back through the fields. 

The Hippogriff was sleeping peacefully when they arrived. It seemed a little brighter than it had last night, but the discolouration on its wing was even darker and far-spread. Scorpius poked and prodded it, but nothing came of his examination. 

“I don't know enough about this,” he said, retreating to the dirt path. “I’ve been studying the Hippogriffs all year, and I’ve never come across something like this before. I think Luna might be our best option!”

Luna Lovegood was an exceptional Witch. She was smart and kind and she had a very different, but strangely practical way of seeing the world. Albus had often been the victim of her experimental teas; sitting in the greenhouse with Neville while they both tried not to choke and Luna humming in the background was something of a hobby, these days. She had good advice, and her magic was free and full of laughter, and she would have been able to solve such a strange ailment with ease, Albus was sure of it. 

Unfortunately, she was also very busy. 

“Oh, Christ,” Albus said, when he caught sight of the figure ambling down the path. “Brace yourself.”

“For what?” Scorpius’s brow furrowed, and he peered over the stable door until he spotted Lysander, and then his face brightened. “Scamander! I haven’t seen you in ages.” 

Lysander came to an abrupt halt a few feet away. His gaze flicked from Albus to Scorpius, and he was uncharacteristically silent for long enough that they both began to twitch. 

“Scorp,” Lysander said, dipping his head. “Didn’t expect to see you out here.” 

Scorpius glanced at Albus, unsure. “Yes, well, I—it was this Hippogriff, see. I needed somewhere with space, and Albus said he could help.” 

Lysander nodded like that made sense, and then his usual grin lit up his face, and he knocked into Albus on purpose as he went into the stable. 

“Good to see you then, mate. Let’s have a look at this guy, shall we? Mum said something about a weird wing? We were fishing at the time, so I didn't hear all of it. Kinda busy, y’know.”

“I never pictured fishing as a very busy hobby,” Scorpius mused. “Plimpies? Salmon?”

Lysander ducked into the stall and flashed them a smirk. “Fang-toothed tadpoles, actually. Those buggers know how to bite.”

“I didn't even know tadpoles had teeth, let alone fanged ones.”

Albus chuckled under his breath. He could see just how much Scorpius was itching for a quill, but he put his curiosity aside and watched quietly as Lysander started his inspection. The Hippogriff didn't seem all that bothered by his presence, putting up with it in an exhausted, dignified manner. When he was finished, Lysander sat back on his haunches and clucked his tongue thoughtfully. 

“Right. Don't think it’s anything serious, but it’s got the potential to be. I’ve seen it on a few beasts before, but never a Hippogriff.” Lysander cocked his head. “It’s an infection that originates in the feather follicles. Your other Hippogriffs would have shown signs by now if they had it, so this one must have been an unsociable bugger, but we should get it fixed up soon.”

Scorpius let out a sigh of relief. “A follicle infection. I’ll need to write this up so we can keep an eye on the environment and the rest of the herds, just in case.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?” Albus said, frowning. “They don't know for sure that you stole it yet, do they? If you pop up with information like that, you may as well wear a big sign that says ‘I stole the Hippogriff, by the way, in case you were curious about that.’”

“I also didn't turn up for class today, so I’m sure they’ll put two and two together.” Scorpius shrugged helplessly. “At least this way they don't have to pay for anything, and we’ll have caught the infection before it spreads. I’m sure it won’t be too awful. What do we do about this little guy, though?”

Albus turned back to Lysander, only to find that his piercing gaze was already fixed on him. He lifted an eyebrow in a way that said _what the fuck are you doing_ quite plainly, and then faced Scorpius pointedly. 

“We’ll need our favourite little Potions Master for this. An ointment to be rubbed into the skin beneath the feathers, and a potion to reduce the infection on the inside. You up for it, Al?”

Scorpius looked at him pleadingly, but there was no need for it. Albus would have done it anyway. 

“I haven’t made those potions before, so you’ll have to give me the recipe. But yeah, I’m up for it. I’ve got everything in the farm.”

“It’ll take a few hours.” Lysander stood up and brushed off his jeans, giving the Hippogriff one last pat. “You want to get started on it now?”

“Well, I don't want to be up all night doing it.”

Lysander’s smirk turned a little wicked. “That’s not the Albus I remember.”

Albus reached over the stall door and tried to shove him, but he dodged, laughing. Scorpius went all stiff and shocked, his mouth slackening, but he pulled himself together quickly when Albus glanced at him, cheeks flushed. 

“That was years ago,” Albus said, not quite sure if he was explaining himself or trying to reassure Scorpius. 

“Oh.” Scorpius gave a shaky little smile. “So you and—you both were—”

“You snooze, you lose, Malfoy.” Lysander clapped him on the back and made his way out of the stables. “Meet me in the kitchen, baby Potter. Let’s put your stunning Potions skills to use.”

Albus snorted, still flushed. Lysander winked at him on the way past, and then strolled down the dirt track like he owned it, whistling lightly. Scorpius was still standing in the stables, looking faintly lost. 

“Don't mind him,” Albus said. “You know what he’s like. He loves stirring up trouble.”

And being an interfering arse, but Albus didn't mention that. 

Scorpius smiled again, but there was something off about it. “It’s fine! It’s not like I haven’t heard dirty jokes before, ha. I was just surprised. I never pictured you with anyone—I mean—”

Albus tried not to stare. He wasn’t an expert, but something was telling him that Scorpius was… 

“Are you jealous?”

“No!” Scorpius huffed, straightening up, but his bright cheeks gave him away. “No, it’s just weird, that’s all. Not weird! Unexpected, that’s all.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t been with anyone in three years?”

Scorpius turned faintly pink and averted his gaze. “Ah, well. Maybe a few people.”

“Right.” Albus gritted his teeth. “Exactly.” 

There was an ugly feeling in his stomach. He didn't like jealousy, having felt it for most of his young adult life, and he made a point not to fall into old patterns anymore. It reminded him of never feeling good enough, of nights spent lying awake, wondering how he was supposed to follow in his father’s footsteps without sinking into them, at a loss for how he was supposed to thrive under a shadow that wide. 

He had felt a lot of jealousy for Scorpius before. He talked to people so easily once they got past his name, even if he was a little awkward and chatty. He was outgoing and bright and good at most things. He seemed to instinctively know how to be a good friend, whereas Albus had to work a little harder. He had a drive to him. Albus had been jealous of the way people were drawn to him, and jealous of the way he smiled at everybody, and jealous of pretty much every good thing inside him, even as he admired them in turn. 

That wasn’t a road he particularly wanted to travel again. 

So he unclenched his jaw and offered Scorpius a smile, before leading him back into the house. Lysander was waiting for them, making himself a drink while a cauldron bubbled to life on the kitchen counter. He had avoided Albus’s desk. Most of his work was still strewn over the top, and Albus smiled gratefully before joining him in the kitchen. 

The potion didn't take long to make. Scorpius and Lysander chatted in the background while Albus stirred the concoction counter-clockwise until it turned a pale, sunflower yellow. The conversation wasn’t smooth or even comfortable, but there were no more teasing remarks. When it was done, Lysander packed everything up, gave them a few last-minute instructions, and then dragged Albus by the elbow through the house. 

“Won’t be a minute!” Lysander called. “Amuse yourself, or something.”

“Lysander,” Albus hissed. 

The door slammed shut on Scorpius’s worried expression. 

“What was that for?” Albus said, tearing his arm away. 

“You know what that was for,” Lysander said flatly. Any trace of his usual, easy-going self was gone. “The hell are you doing, Al? You two haven’t been around each other for years, you’ve barely said more than a couple of words to each other Christmas cards, and now you’re committing crimes and cosying up in a farmhouse together.”

“We’re not cosying up,” Albus snapped. “What, I’m not allowed to talk to people, is that it? I’m not allowed to get back in touch with an old friend?”

Lysander gave him a very droll look, and then said softly, “Scorpius has never been just an old friend.”

Albus faltered, buttoning his mouth. The front door felt like a ten-foot tall, ocean-thick wall between him and Scorpius. It was true, though. They had never been just friends. There had always been something that deeply entwined them, even before they got together. Even when they didn't speak, didn't see each other, when they were separated in all forms of the word, Scorpius had filled his thoughts at odd hours of the day. 

“You know I’m just worried.” Lysander nudged him gently. “The first time all this kicked off, you were miserable for months. I know we weren’t really friends back then, but I still saw what a state you were in. Forgive me if I’m not keen on seeing you go back to that.”

“I know.” Albus sighed harshly. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. Everything’s just been really weird lately, and I don't know what to do. I think I might just blame Draco and be done with it.”

“He’d probably enjoy that.”

“Probably. Christ, I’ve got _work_ in two days.”

Lysander laughed brightly. “Time doesn’t stop just because you’re having another romantic crisis.” His face softened, and he slung an arm around Albus’s shoulders, pulling him in for a tight hug. “Look, just take care of yourself, yeah? Don't do anything stupid, don't rush into anything, and don't make me come back out here to bail you out of your next crime. I’ll sit in front of the bars and laugh.”

Albus hugged him back just as tightly. It was nice, falling back into that embrace. Things between them had been very brief, about a year after Scorpius left. A night at a pub and a spark of interest that soon fizzled out into something warmer and friendly. He was pretty damn grateful that Lysander had seen fit to stick around all this time, and that he had no qualms with doling out really good hugs. 

He waved from the porch until Lysander disappeared beyond the wards, and then he folded his arms against the cold and frowned out at the drizzle. There was no doubt in his mind that things were getting more and more twisted. He was pretty sure that he still loved Scorpius for all the old reasons, and he had no idea if he would love all the new bits of him that had changed, though he couldn’t imagine finding anything that would change his mind or his heart. But the fact of the matter was this: if anything was going to happen, then they were going to have to talk. 

Albus groaned, running a hand over his face. “Somewhere, Neville is laughing at me. Draco, too. And probably my dad. All the father figures in my life are bastards.”

oOo

Albus stayed out on the porch a little longer. When he came back inside, it was abundantly clear that he should have come back in sooner. The desk where he did most of his work—but not his Potions work, which was all that people really knew he did—was covered in even more sketches and bits of paper. Some of the drawers were open. Scorpius was leaning over it all, mouthing along with the words he was reading, his gaze astonished and filled with awe.

There was a peacock feather quill sitting on top of the disturbed papers. The feathers were a little ruffled, as though someone had run their fingers through it. Albus hadn’t used it in a while. It was fairly old, and he didn’t want to break. 

At the snap of the door shutting, Scorpius jerked a little, but he made no move to hide what he was doing. 

“I’d forgotten how nosy you were,” Albus said. 

“I was going to apologise, but I’m really not sorry,” Scorpius said. “Albus, did you do all this? These are beautiful.”

Albus tucked his hands in his pockets, abashed. “They’re nothing special.”

But they sort of were. Albus had loved stories since the day he stepped foot in Castletown Comics, and that love had followed him through the years. He had never stopped looking at people and places and trying to figure out how they might fit into the narrative. He had stopped drawing on palms and wrists and instead he drew on paper now, on spare bits of parchment and old receipts and crisp, clean sketchbooks. 

“They feel special to me,” Scorpius said. “Look at this one! It’s from the other week, isn’t it? At the park, with the ducks?”

The sketchbook was open on a new page. The pond that was too small to be a lake and too big to be a pond was there. Albus had sketched little ducks gliding across the water, and he had added small slanted strips of rain darting through the sky. There was a park bench, and the shaded backs of an old man and an old woman were visible. An umbrella hovered above them. 

He had sketched out space for text, rigid squares above the image that were blank and awaiting their words. But he didn't know what to write. It wasn’t the first image he had drawn featuring the Old Man and the Old Woman. They had a whole story planned out in his head, but he had a tough time getting them down on the paper. 

Theirs was primarily a love story, a story of coming back together, and Albus didn't particularly know how to write it. 

“I’m not sure what I want to do with it yet,” Albus admitted, coming close enough to graze his fingers over the sketch. It was clean and pretty, colourless but not plain. “This whole thing is kinda why I stay at the house so often. My flat’s full of all my comics, but I come here to draw and write and plan stories. I was thinking of trying to make it into something, you know? Put some stories out in the world. D’you think that’s stupid?”

Scorpius looked startled at the question. He put the sketchbook down gently, as though he was perfectly aware of how important it was, and leaned his hip against the desk. There was so much urgent affection in his gaze. 

“No, it’s not stupid! Even if you don't show it to someone, or put it out in the world, it’s still worth something. They look like good stories, Al. If you like doing it, you should keep doing it.” 

Albus smiled at him. It was nice to hear. There was part of him that was very sure that he would never write a story worth sharing, and part of him that longed to try anyway. The last part was probably more important than the first. 

“You were listening, weren’t you?” Albus said. “At the door?”

Scorpius made a little noise of protest, as though the idea was ridiculous and insulting. Then his whole body wilted, and he bit his lip apologetically, wringing his hands together in front of him. 

“How did you know?” 

Albus laughed a little, and then gestured at the desk. 

“Alright, so I’m a little nosy,” Scorpius said defensively. “Maybe I was listening a bit. I know I shouldn’t have… but I got worried. Al, I know I’ve sort of taken over your life recently. I mean, technically you popped back into my life first, but I suppose I can blame that on Dad too, actually, so the rest is all me.”

“You keep saying stuff like that,” Albus said. “You keep acting like I don't want to see you, or listen to you talk, or stay up with you. I do, Scorpius. I’ve missed you.”

For a minute, he thought Scorpius was going to burst out of his shoes with thrilled excitement. But just as Albus started laughing, Scorpius drew himself together and smiled brightly, charmingly. 

“I missed you too. I’m glad Dad surprised me that day, although a little warning would be nice. But I really have missed you. And I’ve missed your drawings.” He glanced down at the desk with a laugh. “That first year after… after our break-up, I used to draw flowers on my arms whenever I missed you. Silly, hm? I walked around Grandma’s house absolutely covered in flowers. It’s no wonder she finally got fed up and forced me to get on with things. That must be why I didn't know you were Dad’s Apprentice, actually, because I went to France to stay with Grandma and do some travelling and stuff…Al?”

Albus knew there was a strange look on his face. He knew because there was a strange feeling in his stomach too, and in his chest and his heart and every place that could ache. It must have travelled across his whole body. He cleared his throat and looked at the floor, not sure if he was confused or angry or hurt. 

“You missed me that first year?”

Scorpius cocked his head. “Of course I missed you.”

“But straight away? You missed me right after we broke up?”

“Albus, I missed you every day.” Scorpius looked alarmed. “What’s wrong? What am I missing?”

But Albus shook his head and headed quietly off to the kitchen, eager to get away from the sweet stories he had almost-written and Scorpius’s bewildered expression. Unfortunately, Scorpius followed him, quickening his steps until he was on the other side of the kitchen table, watching Albus bash the kettle about. 

“Albus, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything’s fine,” Albus said. 

“It quite clearly isn’t fine,” Scorpius said impatiently. “Will you please talk to me?”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

Scorpius groaned very loudly, and it was the first sign of genuine annoyance, and it was so blunt and unlike him that Albus’s hands slipped on the handle of the mug he was abusing. “For Merlin’s sake! That’s what you used to say all the time when we were together. And there was always something to talk about, but you would always avoid it. Do you know how frustrating that is?”

He did know how frustrating it was, truthfully. James and Lily and Rose had given him several snappish talks until it finally sunk in. It was something he had gotten better at over the years, or so he thought. It was another way that Scorpius was the exception to the rule, but this time it wasn’t as fun to realise. 

“Fine,” Albus said, abandoning his tea and turning around, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “Let’s talk.”

Scorpius glared at him. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do. You got upset over something and ran off in here, but how am I supposed to fix it if you won’t tell me what I did?”

“I don't know what you did! It just pissed me off, that’s all.”

“It pissed you off that I missed you?” Scorpius stared at him like he was cracked in the head. “Was I supposed to skip off merrily into my new, Albus-free life and never think about you again?”

Albus flinched. His arms fell to his sides and he glared at the table. He had tried to picture what Scorpius was doing in the months after their break-up, but all he could come up with happy, pleasant scenes where Scorpius was having the time of his life. Because if he _wasn’t_ happy, then what the fuck was the point in them breaking up?

“Al, come on. We… we broke up because things were going wrong, not because I didn't—”

“But I never thought that everything wrong started with us,” Albus snapped, cutting Scorpius off sharply. “You did! You were the one that made the decision. It wasn’t mutual, okay, it wasn’t like we parted ways and everything was fine. I wasn’t fine. Things might have been okay for you, but it wasn’t for me. So don't act like I’m not allowed to be surprised that apparently you missed—”

“It wasn’t okay for me,” Scorpius interrupted. “Albus, you can’t be serious. You can’t think I was okay. For me to be okay, our relationship would have had to mean nothing to me.” He shuffled forward a little until he bumped into the table, his face falling. “That’s not what you think, is it?”

Albus set his mouth in an unhappy tilt. Scorpius looked stricken. 

“Albus,” Scorpius said, a hint of a plea in his voice. “Please tell me that for the last three years you haven’t been walking around thinking that what we had meant _nothing_ to me.”

“Not nothing.” Albus’s voice cracked, and grabbed the back of the nearest chair tightly. “Not nothing. But not something, either. It just—it happened so fast. One day we were happy, and then the next day we weren’t together anymore. I tried to convince myself that it was both of us that were unhappy, and that I just didn't see it, but I don't think that’s true. I think I was happy. I loved you, and I was happy. And then it was over. So I didn't know what it meant to you. I didn't know what to think.” 

Scorpius screwed up his face, like he was fighting back tears. He pulled out one of the chairs and fell into it, all of his strings cut, and shook his head. 

“It meant everything to me, Albus. I can’t believe I have to tell you that. The whole time afterwards, I wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing.” 

“If you though that leaving was the wrong choice, then why didn't you come back?”

“I don't think I _was_ wrong,” Scorpius admitted. “I don't know if I was right, either. I wanted to send you a letter or meet up with you and see if we could fix it, but I hounded Rose for years, and I didn't want to do that with you. God, I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking. All I know is that we couldn’t stay the way we were. But that had more to do with me than you. I do regret it, Albus. I regret how it happened, and I regret not trying to fix things, or talk to you first.” 

Albus swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I wish you had talked to me. But I was hard to talk to back then. I’m not much better now either, apparently. Honestly, I’m not sure it would have made much of a difference. You seemed pretty set on it. And it—as much as I hated it, I don’t think it was all bad, really.” 

Scorpius’s head came up, an unspoken question. Albus sighed and drew out the chair he was gripping like a lifeline, falling into it with all the gravity and grace of a sack of potatoes. They sat opposite each other, the table between them, but the gap felt much wider. 

“I was happy with you and happy with my life. But then you talked about how we were stagnating. You said something about how everyone was moving forward in their life, and you were staying still. I hadn’t thought about it until then, but I was staying still too. When we ended things, it gave me a push. I was miserable for a while, but that just drove me to _do_ something. I’m not saying it’s the only way I could have ended up here, but I like where I am.” Albus smiled a little. “I’m proud of what I’ve done.” 

Scorpius smiled a little too. “I’m proud of what you’ve done too. And I’m proud of myself. I don't know if I have the right to say that to you—”

“You do,” Albus said, shaking his head. “Relationships have nothing to do with that. I’m glad you got to where you want to be. And even if I wasn’t glad, which I am, you should be proud of yourself anyway. If I was holding you back before, then I’m sorry.”

Scorpius’s shoulders fell. Softly, he suggested, “I think it might have been the timing. We were pretty young to make huge choices like that. I’m still pretty young, actually, even though I feel a hundred years old.”

Albus barked a laugh. The kettle was whistling away in the background, but he didn't have the energy to go and sort it out, even though he desperately needed a cup of tea after all that. It was like everything he had been holding onto all this time had finally poured out of him. He wasn’t sure that it was all gone, or healed up, but he felt better. Lighter, almost, although his body disagreed, trying to sink through the chair into a soft pile of sleepy bones. 

“Can I ask you something?” Scorpius twisted his hands together a little, then let them fall flat on the table, picking at the grain. “You asked me why I didn't come back, but I have to wonder… why didn't you reach out either?”

“I thought you’d fallen out of love.” Albus shrugged. “They never have to fight that in the stories.” 

Scorpius took a deep breath: Albus could see it, the parting of his mouth and the swell of his chest and the heavy way the words rolled to the tip of his tongue. 

“I didn’t fall out of love with you back then.” Then, quieter: “I don’t think I ever did.”

oOo

“You’re quiet today.” Draco stared at him suspiciously. “What have you broken? If it’s the new portrait, I’ll turn you into something vile, make no mistake.”

Albus rolled his eyes. The potion they were working on was turning the wrong colour, and he was trying to focus, but it was hard with somebody peering at you like you were a peacock performing an unexpected task. 

He said as much to Draco, who snorted in an undignified manner. “Please, those birds have more talent in their feathers than you do in your little finger. Very vengeful creatures, too. Tell me the truth, come on. What’s going on with you?”

“You’re as nosy as your son, you know.”

“Ah.” Draco settled back in his leather chair with a victorious smirk. “So that’s what’s got you so preoccupied.”

Albus flipped him off, hunching over the cauldron. His hair was puffy from the humidity and there was goop on his right hand, and he couldn’t be bothered to untangle Draco’s knowling looks. 

His mind was back in a kitchen, listening to the kettle whistle while the flowers swayed outside, being told that he was loved. 

“I need a favour from you,” Draco said, as he was packing up his things to leave. “A work favour, so I’m afraid it can’t be refused. Take this envelope up to Billingswing University and hand it to the Finance Department, will you?”

Albus balked, taking the envelope automatically. “What?”

“Do you really need me to repeat those very simple instructions?”

“Why can’t you mail it? And how the hell does this fall under a work favour?”

“The mail takes too long, and this is urgent. I need to clear up a problem of a missing Hippogriff, though Merlin only knows what that had to do with my son, and I’ve found that a few galleons and a stern word or two work quite nicely with most establishments.” Draco smiled pleasantly, pushing him out of the house and onto the front step. “And if you don't do me the favour, you’ll be out of work, so I suggest you get a move on. Feel free to take your time.”

The door slipped shut. Albus clenched his hand around the envelope. He was seized with the wild urge to empty its contents into his pockets and take a quick, paid-for trip to New Zealand, where there were far too many hills for Draco to bother trying to find him, but he refrained. 

It wasn’t that he didn't want to see Scorpius. Their conversation had come to a stop not long after Scorpius’s confession, and he had Apparated back to University an hour or so later, while Albus was still thinking of a way to respond. He still didn't know how to respond, really. He felt bad about leaving Scorpius without an answer, but his mind was full of whirling thoughts and questions and worries. 

He was afraid of it all going wrong again. But he was even more afraid of not giving it a chance to go right in the first place.

oOo

This time, Albus Apparated to the University alone, from the farmhouse. The Hippogriff was well-fed and sleeping peacefully, the ointment working its way through his feathers. It had been hard to leave the quiet house where things were calm and easy, but he remembered what Scorpius said about avoiding things, and he knew he had to do something. He marched through the school gates with his sketchbook under his arm, a coat thrown over his shoulders, and an envelope in his pocket.

The Finance Department was in some deep, undiscovered part of the University. By the time he emerged again, a little more dusty and much lighter in the pockets than when he went down, the bell was ringing faintly throughout the school. He had to push through the crowd to reach the same set of steps where he had found Scorpius the first time, and then there was nothing to do but wait. 

He spotted Scorpius the moment he came through the doors. He was surrounded by a group of students, chatting in excited tones, a quill held up in the air to demonstrate a point. His smile was bright and his hair was in disarray, and his friends were looking at him fondly. Albus thought he might burst a little. 

“Oh,” Scorpius said, coming to a halt on the bottom step. “You’re here.”

Albus glanced at Scorpius’s friends, who were staring at him with unabashed curiosity. “I’m here. I wanted to ask if you were free for dinner?”

Scorpius blinked rapidly. A ripple of teasing laughter went through his friends, and he flushed, ducking his shoulders. But the smile on his face grew, and he nodded eagerly, hitching up the strap of his messenger bag. 

“Free as a bird. Let me just tell this lot to go away.”

There was more laughter and a few rude remarks. Albus put his free hand in his pocket and clutched his sketchbook a little tighter, waiting with a patient smile while Scorpius whispered fast and quick to his friends, shooing them away. Then they were off, with only a few passing comments ringing in the air behind them.

“Have fun, boys!”

“Be safe!”

“Don't do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Albus grinned a little, following Scorpius’s suddenly-quick steps across the grounds, towards the main gate. He seemed very eager to get away. 

“They seem cool.”

“They’re not so bad, I suppose.” Scorpius cleared his throat. “Anywhere in mind for dinner?”

“Yeah, but your Dad recommended it, so I won’t be able to pay,” Albus said honestly, prompting a peal of laughter that Scorpius tried desperately to hide behind his hands. “Wanna go and get burgers instead?”

Scorpius rambled a little bit about a place that sold heavenly chorizo burgers, and Albus nodded along. He caught the curious glances thrown at his sketchbook, but didn't bring it up. It wasn’t until they had arrived at the park bench where they watched the ducks the first time that Scorpius finally stopped and looked around, surprised. 

“It’s your second favourite place, right?” Albus sat down on the bench and put his sketchbook on his knees. “We can have dinner in a bit, but I wanted to show you something first.”

Scorpius eased himself onto the bench beside him. His eyes were so lovely and easy to read, and they fixed on Albus in a way that meant _take your time._ It gave him the strength to open the sketchbook. 

“I didn't want to do a big dramatic thing, really. But you told me that you might still love me, right?”

“Right,” Scorpius said softly. 

“Right.” Albus nodded jerkily. “You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that. I’m sorry it took me a while to say it back, but I’m pretty sure I still love you too.”

Scorpius’s quiet intake of breath didn't go unheard. Albus let him have a moment as he flipped to the right page. 

“We’ve got so much stuff between us and behind us that I don't think we can start fresh, but I don't want to pick up where we left off. I want it to be better than it was last time. I don't want to hold you back, and I don't want you to pull away.”

“This is not what I expected this morning,” Scorpius admitted, laughing a little bit, but in a hopeful sort of way. “I think I should start going into University every day expecting you to show up and change everything. It might be good for my heart.”

“You might be good for mine,” Albus said, with an over-exaggerated wink. 

“Gross!” Scorpius shoved him across the bench, laughing even more. “Honestly, Albus! We were having an emotional moment.”

“It was getting too tense for me. Here.”

Albus turned the sketchbook around, propping it up in Scorpius’s lap instead. The page was open on the drawing of the same park, with the Old Man and the Old Woman facing the water. 

“You filled it in,” Scorpius said, wonderingly. “You filled in the story.”

Albus stayed quiet. He watched Scorpius read the words written in the crisp, clean panels, no longer blank but brimming with a story. When he was done, Scorpius shut the sketchbook very carefully and then rubbed one of his eyes, before staring up at the sky like he was trying to hold in tears. 

“Are you crying?”

“No. Bastard.”

Albus laughed gently, putting an arm around Scorpius’s shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. He had missed this. Scorpius put his forehead against the crook of Albus’s neck and breathed deeply, growing quiet. The sketchbook dug into Albus’s thigh, but he didn't want to move. And he didn't have to. Not for a while. 

“You think we’ll do better this time around?” Scorpius murmured. 

The timing was right, this time. Albus had no intentions of letting anything slip away again. He pressed a kiss somewhere in the mess of Scorpius’s hair and breathed deeply too. Maybe it had been the wrong timing that had broken them apart, but time had also brought them back together again. 

“I reckon we’ll do just fine.”

oOo

_“We’ve got a love like old boots, you and me,” said the Old Man. “The really sturdy boots that last a good long while. They cost a little more, but they’re worth it in the end. And when they do finally get a few holes in the soles, and the water leaks in, then you plant ‘em by the front door and let the wind carry dandelion seeds deep down inside them.”_

_The Old Woman smiled her steady smile and held out her hand. “Something new’ll grow then.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen this is so very cheesy and i loved writing every inch of it. i hope you loved it too! 
> 
> there is always a reason for why things end, of course, but those reasons are not always clear-cut or big events. sometimes that makes it more painful, i think. i just wanted this to be about timing and being young and not being sure what you want! and then growing! 
> 
> I also tried to do something clever with water as a metaphor for their relationship but I gave up a little near the end! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it, and I appreciate every little comment, you have my undying love if you do!!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely mods for setting up the fest! It’s always a lot of fun to do. And thank you to Dee for my beta help!! I’ll see you all on the 30th for the last chapter! 
> 
> Please feel free to say hi! <3


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